


sing about me, i'm dying of thirst

by JHarkness



Series: the type of bullet that stuck [1]
Category: Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Canon Compliant, Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Spoilers, shadyche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 02:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/pseuds/JHarkness
Summary: Darius meets Hernan Alvarez when he's seven years old.





	sing about me, i'm dying of thirst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [13thDoctor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor/gifts).



> I've really fallen into this ship, and I actually started writing this during the very first episode of season two after that hug. As I got more information throughout the season I updated it accordingly and it has evolved into something I'm quite proud of. Their relationship was honestly so revolutionary for a Marvel show and I had to add to it. I hope you enjoy, and keep an eye out for part 2!

Darius meets Hernan Alvarez when he's seven years old. The kid doesn't speak a lick of English and Darius barely understands Spanish, but he knows what _puta maric_ _ó_ _n_ means, knows he's not going to let the other neighborhood kids get away with calling anyone that. He punches an eleven year old square in the jaw when he corners Hernan, and Hernan thanks him in the thickest accent Darius has ever heard, and neither of them looks back at the kid bleeding on the ground. Neither of them looks back, period.

Darius helps Hernan with his English and Hernan teaches Darius Spanish. It's unnecessary, though; it doesn't take them long to figure out they can communicate without words. The simplest touch or look conveys worlds. They grow into that tacit communication, and it frustrates the hell out of all their parents and teachers and friends.

They get in so much trouble. God, Darius’ mother almost gives up on beating him after they steal those hot dogs because it’s damn-near the hundredth time they’ve done something that stupid and it’s never going to stop; not as long as Darius lives, he’s sure of that. He’ll do anything for Hernan.

Darius is fourteen when he realizes he doesn't just love their _friendship_. He hears some of the older boys talk about girls--for the life him he can’t figure out what’s so great about _pussy_ \--and knows he doesn't feel that way. But Darius does know he feels that way about Hernan, about his thighs, neck, jaw. It terrifies him.

They're 16 when Hernan walks into Darius’ room, lays down on the bed, and declares, “I think we should try kissing.”

Darius almost chokes.

“It's practice. Look, this girl Jennifer--” Darius is distracted for a moment with how Hernan says the name, the accent coming back just enough to remind him where they started-- “is really into me, and I've never made out with anyone before. No bitch is gonna teach me how to kiss so I can get with her friend. Plus they'll all tell Jessica. Please, B? I trust you.”

Darius almost wants to tell Hernan that he didn't need the whole speech. He's been on board for years.

When Hernan comes into his room one night smelling like cheap cologne and someone’s mix of sweat and perfume, Darius bites back tears, hating himself for it. He rolls over and makes room for Hernan to get into the bed and waits. Hernan lays next to him and starts describing in vivid detail what it was like to fuck Jennifer. Darius listens. He despises it and he listens and when Hernan is done asks if their kissing had been helpful. Hernan laughs. Leaning in close, he says, “She said I was the best she's ever had.” He kisses Darius and it means _thank you_. Darius kisses back and it means _don't leave me_.

Hernan at least stays the night.

Worried she’s going to change them, Darius is awful to Jennifer. Three whole years. He doesn’t feel good about it. She’s a confident, beautiful girl from the Bronx and doesn’t deserve even the thought of his hate. And Darius has always had a reputation for being the kinder of the two of them--which he doesn’t see as fair, because really Hernan’s just quiet, watchful, and clearly no one knows him--but he rejects it all for the sake of keeping Darius to himself. It’s hypocrisy at its finest and he’s alright with that.

Jennifer breaks up with Hernan. Hernan and Darius get drunk the same night, but Hernan has no ideas about kissing Darius anymore. They go to a club and Hernan picks two girls up. One for himself, one for Darius. They go to a motel, two beds--one for Hernan, one for Darius. Darius watches Hernan the whole time.

The next day, hungover as they’ve ever been, Hernan has the bright idea to steal some ridiculous sunglasses that look like they should be on Tom Cruise. Darius tackles the shopkeeper to the ground so they can get away. It’s pure and exhilarating and when Darius catches up to Hernan in an alley, Hernan slams Darius against the brick wall and kisses him. It doesn’t last nearly long enough but it’s worth the end when Hernan pulls away, wild eyes to match his racing heart, and slides on the glasses.

“Call me Shades.”

And there it is, that jolt, that feeling like panic and thrill and lust all rolled into one, spreading like smokes in his lungs, his throat. Darius’ knees almost go weak when _Shades_ smiles.

“Alright.”

Hernan loves their new life. The meet Romeo and join the Rivals--Darius becomes Comanche--and it’s a dream. Comanche is a gangster, and a good one. Shades is brilliant. Comanche is sure they’ll end up running the game one day.

No one is surprised when they wind up in Seagate except them, and they’re only surprised that they got caught.  “You know,” Shades says, “we could run this place.”

It’s not hard for them to earn a reputation. People fear them. They rule Seagate and there’s nothing that can stop them. People respect them, which is what Shades seems to care the most about. They gain the attention of the guards and Shades spends the whole night in the cell awake, pacing, laying out his plans while Comanche sleepily agrees from his bunk. For a while he just watches Shades’ mouth work (god _damn_ that smirk). He works hard not to touch Shades unless he has to, because he knows himself, because maybe he knows Shades better than he knows himself, and sometimes he lies awake and stares at the bottom of Shades’ bunk and swears he can see his outline through the mattress.

“I see you,” Shades says one day. He’s sitting on the floor and staring at Comanche with keen eyes. Comanche raises his eyebrows.

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

Shades laughs, the sound almost hollow in his throat, and tucks his head into his chest. He inhales so strongly his entire torso moves. “It’s been how many years? Thirty something? Damn.” Shaking his head, Shades stands and comes to stand next to Comanche’s bunk. He leans into it, arms on his own mattress, head ducked so he can stare right at Comanche. Comanche slowly puts his arms behind his head, resting his head on his palms, and stares back. His entire body is aware of Shades. His throat and mouth go dry, and he feels like there’s gasoline instead of blood in his veins, because somewhere he’s on fire, and he’s dying of thirst.

“Rivals,” Shades whispers.

“We ain’t got none,” Comanche responds automatically, but the sentence is merely breath, and he starts to clear his throat while he makes their salute. Shades grabs his fist and keeps the words stuck in Comanche’s throat when he kisses him. It’s hesitant in a way that Comanche didn’t think Shades could be. Shades is shaking a little when he pulls away, and his eyes are bright with fear.

Comanche exhales until he has no breath left. Then, he slides his hand around the back of Shades’ neck, scoffs when Shades tenses like he’s gonna get hit, and pulls him in for another kiss. This one’s longer. This one leads to Shades straddling Comanche, leads to harsh breaths and tongues and teeth and marks. Comanche loves the way Shades’ lips look kiss-crushed. He loves the way his lips look open and gasping even more. He does the best to keep him that way, puts his mouth to good use between Shades’ thighs, learns the parts of him he’s dreamed about.

When they’re done Comanche worries Shades is going to chalk it up to prison rules and crawl back into his bunk. Talk Rackham into setting up a fight that Comanche won’t walk away from. It’s a week before Shades touches him again and he apologizes--actually apologizes, his voice laced with pain--saying, “I don’t really have it figured out yet, but I know I want to kiss you.”

That’s enough for Comanche.

They work with Rackham, and Rackham gives them space. They work the yard and the cafeteria and then head back to their cell. With the block empty, Comanche has no qualms figuring out what he can do to get Shades to make the most noise. They’re sure almost everyone knows, but no one says anything; if anyone so much as looks at a Rival wrong in Seagate, it doesn’t end well for him. Comanche starts to let his guard down a little and jokes, laughs, smiles. Even when they’re around other people they start to touch a little more. A hand on an arm, knees knocking. It’s just about lights out one night when Shades saunters into their cell, the block already full, and pointedly gets into Comanche’s bed with him instead of his own. The guard just blinks.

Then the guard walks away and Comanche cocks his head. “Damn nigga, this ain’t your house, get your shoes off my bunk.” Comanche _tsk_ s, pushing Shades’ feet until they slide off the bed.

Unbalanced, Shades looks up from his book, snaps it closed, and smirks. He kicks his shoes off slowly. Then, laughing, he swings his feet back into Comanche’s lap. His eyes never leave Comanche. “What else comes off in your bed, Che?”

Comanche swivels and grabs Shades’ knees. He pulls him so he’s flat on the mattress, and Shades laughs, watching Comanche crawl up his body. When they kiss there’s something behind it and Shades pulls away.

“What?”

“I love you.” Comanche says it quickly. He’s unashamed but he’s fallen hard and he’s known for a long time, and Shades still talks about pussy and bitches with the other guys like he’s got plans for when he gets out.

“I love you, too,” Shades replies easily, like he’s confused Comanche is saying it like a confession. Like he thinks they’ve said it before.

Comanche guesses they kind of have.

Comanche gets the news that Shades is getting out before Shades does. One of the other Rivals breaks the news voice level so he doesn’t end up the proverbial messenger, and then heads to the other side of the yard as fast as his feet can carry him.

He sits. He sits for a while, letting what sun there is beat down on his neck, and then rushes inside to vomit out his lunch. When his stomach is empty, Comanche punches the mirror four times: one for each of Shades’ years. It lands him in the infirmary for a few stitches. Shades comes to pick him up and keeps asking _why_ , and Comanche doesn’t have an answer, just holds onto Shades and asks him to fuck him as hard as he can, as long as he can, and then fall asleep with him. He does all three.

Of course, they’re not together when the guards come for Shades.

Shades is out in the yard before Comanche’s even awake; Comanche’s sleeping off their night together and nursing a hangover from the vodka Rackham had smuggled in. The guards are ready to get rid of another Rival and they don’t even let Shades go back to his cell, processing and sending him on his way as quickly as they can.

The block is open and everyone is at lunch when Che wakes up. Well, almost everyone is at lunch. “Hey, Che,” someone sing-songs. Comanche wrinkles his nose and opens his eyes to some newcomers who think they’re going to run the place, which is laughable since they wouldn’t even come near the Rivals when Shades was still--Comanche shoots out of the bed so fast his head spins and knocks him back down again when he realizes this means Shades is gone. He lands on one knee and gets a chorus of laughter.

“We always wondered which one of you was the bitch.” The guy Comanche assumes is the leader pulls out a shank and takes a few more steps into the cell.

Comanche almost kills him.

He’s in solitary for months. Rackham still pulls him out for fights, though, and he prefers it to being in his cell with someone new. If the other inmates were afraid of him before, it’s nothing like now; he wins every fight, and he’s avoided even by the other Rivals when he gets out of solitary. He gets paper and some pencils and no letters. He manages to get a phone and gets no calls. There’s no news of Shades for an entire year; Comanche doesn’t whine about it, doesn’t withdraw. He runs Seagate and waits because he _knows_.

He doesn’t know shit.

Comanche gets out of Seagate and there’s a life waiting for him, just not the one he had envisioned. He doesn’t tell Shades why he’s out so early.

Comanche shows up to Mariah’s with a single bag and a broken heart. Shades is standing out, looking fine as hell in a charcoal gray suit showing all the lines his prison uniform couldn’t. Comanche’s damn near foaming at the mouth but all he really wants is to see Shades’ eyes. He doesn’t even get that. Comanche is choking on sand and Shades is just heat lines.

Still, when Shades hugs him, Colmanche breathes him in, wondering if it’ll be the last time.

He waits too long for Shades to reach out and run his fingers through his hair and do more than fucking _nod_ at him when that bitch Mariah treats him like a dog. Each time Shades calls him Che he feels like he’s dying. At the start he convinces himself that Shades is just playing the long game and will let him in on it soon. The revelation never comes; instead, its arguments met with excuses and longing looks met with vacant ones.

Comanche takes some initiative when they’re holed up in that barber shop together. “I ain’t different. Inside, outside… I am who I am.”

It’s so simple; Comanche doesn’t want to die without feeling Shades’ hands on his face again.

Comanche’s last thought is that he can’t feel anything really, especially Shades'--no, _Hernan’s_ \--hands. It’s just cold. His chest feels heavy and empty all at once, blood escaping the body Hernan once held in dark rivulets and settling in the gravel, blood dripping like water over the fingers that Hernan once kissed. And he thinks it’s funny that he stills sees himself as Hernan’s. He’s dying and it’s Hernan’s bullet, he’s dying--

And it’s Hernan’s heart that isn’t beating.

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently taking requests for ShadyChe (thank Theo for that name!) content (like gifs and graphics) over on daughtersofthanos.tumblr.com . Or just come scream about them with me.
> 
> Comment and kudos are always appreciated!


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